


After the Party

by Anonymous



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Face Sitting, Light Bondage, PWP, and a silk cravat put to creative uses, both are female in this, but honestly all this is, in order to play her part in society, oral stimulation, plot what plot?, though thorin does dress a man, we have nice clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7679467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The party has not yet ended, but Bilbo and Thorin have made their apologies, and retire to Bilbo's room.</p>
<p>(This is smut. VERY LOOSELY based on that North-and-South lesbian AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Party

**Author's Note:**

> Smut, VERY LOOSELY based on the very insiring discussions and wonderful artwork (and should the creators of those happen to see this, please consider this a gift to you!) surrounding the Bagginshield North-and-South AU. May a more talented soul turn this AU into something beyond this episode of pure smut!

Faint violin notes drift after them as Thorin and Bilbo leave the dinner party. They’ve made their excuses - the journey that brought them here lasted half the day, and for Thorin was followed immediately by discussions concerning the purchase of new equipment for the mill. Bilbo meanwhile headed to the local hotel to secure two rooms for her and Thorin, while the staff were busy preparing for that night’s party.

The string quartet begins yet another lively tune while a warm summer breeze tugs at Bilbo’s artfully pinned-up hair. They have laughed, eaten, talked to the other attendees, established new contacts, and danced. With new friends, old acquaintances, and together. 

Bilbo is reluctant to admit it even to herself, but the fact that Thorin chose to dress and appear as a man in the eyes of their society is what allows them all this. Instead of strange looks or remarks on the feminine inclination to displays of affection, any looks, words, or touches exchanged between them are viewed as a beginning courtship and met with approval.

And Thorin plays her role well; claims she doesn’t mind keeping her hair short, wearing a binder. “No worse than any corset,” she had said when Bilbo wondered aloud. She likes her hair short, enjoys wearing trousers and waistcoats. “You ought to try,” Thorin would say, “I’m certain you would look dashing in these.”

Yet outside of a private bedroom Bilbo has not yet dared. Her curiosity, however, has been piqued. Tonight though, they stuck to their traditional roles, with Thorin wearing a stiff and well-tailored three-piece suit, and Bilbo a ridiculously elaborate ball gown. 

The entire outfit posits a truly delectable work of art - with pearls stitched on the seams, double layers of fabric, ribbons and lace interwoven - but it’s not exactly easy to move in. Thorin knows she wasn’t the only one to admire it tonight (not one of the persons Bilbo danced with complained about their feet getting stepped on), but she’s the only one who will enjoy removing it, too.

That and the cheerful music drifting after them put a spring in Thorin’s step.

“Would you mind slowing down a bit?” Bilbo calls after her, sounding grumpy and looking rather flushed. “This isn’t exactly a sports dress.”

Thorin turns around and looks Bilbo up and down (oh, she must have had her fair share of wine. Usually Thorin is the epitome of steely self-control). “Oh. But of course,” she returns courteously, bows and then links her arm with Bilbo’s. “It does look gorgeous on you. And once we’re in the room, you won’t have to move at all anymore!”

Bilbo flushes even more, and spurned on by the mood (and the two glasses of wine she had), Thorin disentangles herself to bend down and swoop Bilbo up in her arms. Bilbo squeaks, and it is not as easy as she imagined, but Thorin thrives on challenges. “Or I could just carry you there!”

Bilbo grimaces, torn between laughing and glaring. Though apparently she is aware enough of Thorin’s rather shaky balance that she doesn’t struggle. “What if somebody sees us?” she wonders.

“We’re the only ones here,” Thorin reassures, though she does set Bilbo back on her feet and presses their lips fleetingly together. Bilbo returns the gesture, and is smiling when Thorin looks up again.

“Next time,” Bilbo says as they resume their walk back to their joined room for the night, “You get the fancy dress.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind,” Thorin snipes back, easily, “but what would people say?” She affects a scandalized expression, gasping and shaking her head.

“Unfair,” Bilbo grumbles.

They finally reach the door to Bilbo’s room, and while Bilbo fumbles for the key, Thorin boxes her in, putting her hands on the door left and right of Bilbo’s head and presses light kisses into the nape of her neck. A faint trace of perfume remains, but the soft skin texture under Thorin’s lips makes her blood pulse.

Bilbo gasps, stumbles, but at that moment the door swings open and Thorin and Bilbo both lose their hold.

They fall. Thorin bravely attempts to catch herself by stepping forward, but her flailing hand meets air, while Bilbo goes down straight. Thorin lands on her back a split second later.

“That was elegant,” Bilbo comments drily. “Ow.”

Thorin uses the position to lean forward and nibble on the exposed skin of Bilbo’s nape. “I would be inclined to say it got us into the right position.”

“The door is wide open,” Bilbo replies and if it wasn't for the goosebumps on her skin one could think Thorin’s lips had no effect on her. “Also I think I fell onto something.”

Thorin kicks the door shut behind her and for a moment is tempted to engage action right here and now. But she'd rather see Bilbo’s face.

“Very well,” Thorin declares as she climbs to her feet and remembers to lock the door lest the staff happens upon a surprise. “As milady wishes.”

Bilbo grumbles, but makes no move to get up. Thorin looks from her to the bed and frowns.  
“Are you staying there?” she asks.

“Yes,” Bilbo declares. And then she finally raises her face, cheeks flushed and puffed in faux annoyance. “You said I needn't move once we got to our room.”

Thorin laughs. “Very well,” she declares and shrugs her jacket off.

This time she lifts Bilbo in a rather blunt fireman’s carry. Bilbo, who had expected a more gallant move, squeaks in protest.

“Don't complain,” Thorin calls out, staggering slightly under her weight. “I'm doing the lifting! I get to pick how.”

She fastens her grip on Bilbo’s legs and uses her free arm to pat Bilbo’s butt cheerfully. Bilbo mock kicks her, but then stops her struggles. Thorin smiles at the unusual display of obedience - at least until hands pinch her own butt through the deft fabric of her trousers.

Her breath hitches.

“It's firm,” Bilbo observers with a dry sense of fascination. “Quite muscular. I like it.”

Thorin heaves a dramatic sigh. “Everybody only loves me for my butt and not my winning personality.”

Bilbo does not stop kneading her butt (and it's a very nice sensation to be honest). “It is a very nice butt. Perhaps it could be used to charm that Mister Thatch, too, but I have to admit I would rather not test it.”

Thorin chortles, and as she's reaches the bed she drops her baggage on the top of the covers.

Bilbo lands on her back, squeals, bounces, and Thorin uses the moment to pounce.

She settles on her knees and hands over Bilbo, making sure to box her in, and demonstratively licks her lips. Bilbo challengingly wiggles her eyebrows, and Thorin dives forward into fiery kiss.

Bilbo’s lips retain that hint of cinnamon (also testament that apparently Bilbo had much more than one of those tiny cinnamon desserts), and Thorin pushes forward, letting gravity pull her further down. Her tongue glides past welcoming lips, tangles with another, and slender hands reach up to bury themselves in Thorin’s short hair.

She deepens the kiss further, despite her own lungs demanding air because her body demands the contact more. Bilbo doesn't protest, though Thorin can feel her quiver and it sends a spike of excitement down her back.

They break apart, faces flushed and breathing heavily. Bilbo’s chest falls and rises rapidly, straining against the dress’ stiff fabric and with glazed eyes she stares up.

“More,” Bilbo demands and reaches up again to tug at Thorin’s hair, pulling her closer. She raises her head to press a light kiss on Thorin’s lips and it sends a shiver down Thorin’s spine - she follows Bilbo back down to recapture those cinnamon-tainted lips while her hands wander up, ghost over the soft skin of Bilbo’s cheeks and then drift into pinned up auburn hair.

This kiss is slower; they leisurely taste each other, soak in the warmth. Thorin’s hands begin to undo the complicated hairstyle, pulling out glittering combs and jewel-studded pins. Bilbo’s hands run from Thorin’s hair over the back of her neck and slip underneath the fabric of her jacket, waistcoat and shirt there.

It sends a bright spark of electricity down Thorin’s spine.

She breaks the kiss and sits up, making sure to park her weight securely over Bilbo’s hips (and the contact there, despite layers of fabric between them is glorious). Hands follow her up, help with the cravat and fling the silk tie to the side. Thorin meanwhile begins to unbutton her waistcoat, and then Bilbo helps her to undo the shirt. 

Both items slip smoothly from Thorin’s shoulders and Bilbo softly smiles up at her. She’s left in her binder and trousers, and while those do not come off quite as elegantly, Thorin breathes deeply in relief when the binder comes off.

Hands reach toward her bare breasts; fingertips trace the heated skin there with soft, feather-like touches. The touch is magical; Thorin can’t help the small moan that falls from her lips and Bilbo smiles at her, presses a bit firmer, massaging the skin around her areolas.

Thorin doesn’t exactly remember closing her eyes, but the breast massage makes her legs shake and her insides tremble with want. More, a part of her demands, more. She begins to rub their hips together, almost unconsciously, and only stops when a choked noise comes from Bilbo and her hands begin to move frantically.

Thorin reaches up to capture Bilbo’s left wrist. Reaches behind her, fumbles blindly for the silk cravat, while directing a toothy smirk at Bilbo. “I have an idea,” she declares, holding up the sash and increasing the pressure on Bilbo’s wrist.

Bilbo’s eyes widen and the flush on her cheek darkens. Her lips move noiselessly for a moment; when the breathless “oh, yes” finally emerges Thorin makes a mental note to explore this type of play more extensively in the future. For now her own body begins to demand more action; a steady pulse throbbing in her groin, which quickens when she wraps the silk in several loops around Bilbo’s wrists, tying it off with a cute bow.

Then she leans forward, gently pressing Bilbo’s tied hands onto the sheets above her head.

“Keep them -” she begins and then gasps for air as bold lips surge up to nip playfully at her right nipple. A shiver runs down her spine and she lowers her chest on purpose, pressing her breasts against Bilbo’s face.

A cheeky tongue comes up to lick the areola and then teases its way around the nipple. Thorin’s entire body tenses to the point that her toes curl, and then Bilbo finally, finally envelopes the nipple in her mouth. Her tongue plays with it, soaking it in spit - and when she lets go of it, she blows a gust of cool air across that very wet nipple, and Thorin makes a very weird noise.

Bilbo chuckles in response, but Thorin smothers her by pressing her upper body even lower. Instead of being intimidated, Bilbo starts laughing, and the vibrations send the oddest echo through Thorin’s breasts right into her spine and all the little hairs on her arms stand straight.

Apparently realizing what effect she is having, Bilbo purposely attaches her mouth to Thorin’s left breast and sucks hard. Thorin barely hears the odd noise, electricity surging down her spine and sending sparks into her groin and brain. Bilbo switches tactics, blows, and Thorin can’t quite stop her spine from arching.

“This is amazing,” she mutters, breathlessly, her vision flickering, and she’s not quite sure how her legs and arms haven’t given out yet.

“Is it?” Bilbo whispers softly, the words caressing the heated skin of Thorin’s breasts like ghosts. “Shall I apply this to other regions too?”

Is she -

Thorin’s brain momentarily short-circuits. At least her mouth running on autopilot still manages “and where do you suppose we should start?” Or she hopes that is what she said. It may have come out utterly warbled.

Bilbo giggles. The movement of air across Thorin’s skin is like a thousand needles of pleasure teasing her skin.

“How about we work our way down from here?” Bilbo emphasizes her words by licking a daring trail from Thorin’s nipple down toward her ribcage, and only years of continuous hard work and heavy lifting keep Thorin’s limbs from just collapsing.

“Very well,” she agrees, her voice shaky and heated, and she shifts her weight forward. Bilbo surges up, too (and if Thorin’s muscles are getting a true work-out keeping her up, lifting her head to lick and blow and suck on the skin of Thorin’s stomach must rather tax Bilbo’s core muscles).

Small gasps from Thorin and the wet sounds of lips meeting skin fill the room; it feels as if the temperature inside had risen and keeps rising, while Thorin’s vision tunnels in. She’s blind to the world, blind to the shaking of her arms, to crinkling bedcovers. Only Bilbo and she exist, and that talented tongue is making its way ever further downward.

Until at last a long, confident lick traces the skin down from her navel and meets the red-hot throb of her core. Feeling daring, Thorin shifts her aching legs forward until she can lower her crotch right onto Bilbo’s face. She casts a look at her girlfriend before proceeding - and receives an inviting nod.

What happens then is sheer magical.

As if she’d done this thousands of times before, Bilbo begins to apply gentle pressure to Thorin’s vulva, using her nose to rub little circles into the pubic hair, and all of a sudden Thorin has a scream stuck in her throat as her nerve ending light up.

Bound hands reach up to toy with Thorin’s breasts, gently kneading the sensitive skin. Then Bilbo wriggles her tongue between those reddened lips, right into Thorin’s clit. It teases the soft, sensitive skin expertly, licking and twisting, and trailing, and exploring, until one spot makes Thorin gasp for air loudly. Bilbo blows on it.

Thorin chokes on a scream. Her spine arches, nerves on fire, and she’s not just close any longer, she’s -

A warm tongue flicks over that magic spot. Once, twice - Thorin can’t breathe, can’t think - the tongue twirls, presses - something pinches her nipples - and it’s fireworks and lightning and explosions and sparks and her brain melting down.

“Ohgodohgodohgodohgod,” somebody is muttering in the background when Thorin first becomes aware of her surroundings again. Belatedly she recognizes her own voice, notices her legs and arms are shaking badly, and her entire body seems to be on fire.

Bilbo flickers her tongue against her clitoris again. Thorin’s screeches, spine bending, as a second orgasm tears right through her.

She’s gasping for air when she recovers from that one, and barely manages to shift her hips down. Her nerve endings are screaming, fireworks still going off in her mind, and Bilbo rather drily inquires “was it good?”

Thorin looks over to her girlfriend to ascertain she’s not as unaffected as she sounds - and finds the skin around her lips glinting wetly, and it’s terribly exciting so she surges over and kisses Bilbo. Tastes herself on those lips, tangles with that talented tongue that performed miracles just moments ago.

“Phenomenal,” Thorin declares as they break for air. Her hand seeks out Bilbo’s hair, stroking it, curling it between her fingers, while Bilbo beams up at her.

“One of those cheesy romance novels implied something like this,” Bilbo says, and Thorin kisses her again.

They break for air again, and by now Thorin’s nerves have calmed enough to return her higher brain functions to her. There are still rather random sparks flying through her vision, but she gathers what self-control she retains and declares: “My turn now.”

Bilbo laughs, and Thorin catches her hands and gently presses them down over Bilbo’s head for a second time.

“Those stay here this time,” Thorin demands when the little spikes have stopped stabbing her nerves, and presses down Bilbo’s tied wrists, before sitting back up. Bilbo beams up at her, hair in disarray, cheeks red, and Thorin can’t help kissing her again. And again. Her girlfriend is just too pretty.

“Alright,” Bilbo murmurs as their lips part, and shifts her hips slightly. Just enough to remind Thorin that certain parts of her anatomy rather desire attention.

Thorin shuffles back, nudging Bilbo’s legs to either side of her and pushing the dress’ frilly hem upward.

“Shouldn’t we take the dress off?” Bilbo asks, her voice somewhat choked.

Thorin eyes that chest struggling to expand for a moment. (The fabric isn’t so tight it couldn’t burst). She’d like touching Bilbo’s skin - but she can do that later, too.

“No,” Thorin declares. “It looks too good on you.” She wriggles her eyebrows, and Bilbo hmphs, but then Thorin dives down to tug a pair of wet, lacy panties down, and the noise becomes a gasp.

Thorin runs her hands teasingly up the inside of Bilbo’s thighs, tracing invisible patterns with her fingertips, while she softly blows onto the heated skin of Bilbo’s vulva. Tiny jerks and trembles reward her. Then she places her hands gently yet firmly on the outsides of the mound and pulls the lips apart.

Bilbo gasps lightly. Thorin lowers her head, gives the skin there a tentative lick, and Bilbo jerks, her spine curving, fingers clenching in the bedcovers.

“Do you like that?” Thorin asks, huskily, deliberately letting the vibrations from her lips carry right onto the soft and wet skin of Bilbo’s inner parts. A garbled moan is the answer, and Thorin dives back in. Places feathery kisses all over those heated glands, rubs her fingers in little circles on the outside of it.

And little by little she directs her tongue lower, Bilbo is gasping and making all sorts of tiny, choked noises, her legs twitch and flinch with every lick Thorin takes. Until she finds the spot that makes Bilbo arch like a bowstring, a choked scream escapes her lips, and an echo of those fireworks trails down Thorin’s spine. She intensifies her efforts, tracing tiny circles with her tongue, massaging the outside skin more firmly.

Bilbo squeals, her hips momentarily lifting off the sheets.

When she bounces back, Thorin places a hand on her hips, forcing them down, and she can feel them quiver while she labs off the wetness. Bilbo makes a multitude of tiny noises, not quite words, not quite sounds, and it’s like music to Thorin’s ears. Only when the shivers begin to subside she lets up, and lifts her head.

Bilbo looks utterly undone; eyes half-shut, cheeks flushed and shining, and her hair all over the place.

“This was delicious,” Thorin declares before Bilbo is coherent enough to form words again. Her own muscles have begun to feel heavy with satisfied exhaustion, but Thorin forces them to pull her up over Bilbo’s body and draw her girlfriend into one deeper kiss.

Bound hands come up and around Thorin’s neck, and she can feel how those arms yet tremble, and lets the kiss end quite leisurely. With one hand she reaches up and with a bit of fumbling finds the knot that holds the tied cravat together. Pulls it, and immediately Bilbo makes use of her freed hands to run them all over Thorin’s face and skin.

“That,” she declares, breathless, “was amazing.”

Thorin smiles as warmth blossoms in her chest. “I concur.”

Bilbo giggles airily. “We should repeat it on occasion.”

And they will. But probably not tonight. Maybe tomorrow morning, though. They need to wake up before the staff come to bring breakfast anyway, lest they cause a scandal.

“I wanna take the dress off,” Bilbo says just when Thorin is on the brink of drifting off.

“Alright,” she replies sleepily and forces her tired limbs to spring into action. Bilbo doesn’t look much more awake.

That is until the dress comes off. They look at each other.

“We could continue now?”

**Author's Note:**

> Should this look familiar - yes, the other fic is mine as well, since the original draft for this resulted in two fics. :3


End file.
